


comfort.

by dolefulariaxx



Category: No Fandom
Genre: F/F, Gen, POV Second Person, Proceed with caution, Unnamed characters - Freeform, comfort drabbles, might have some triggering thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:24:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24460471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dolefulariaxx/pseuds/dolefulariaxx
Summary: you allow yourself to fall into her embrace—because for once, in your solitary, most godforsaken life, you don't have to cry alone anymore.—comfort drabbles that are vent-y in nature.





	1. embrace.

Her hand is gentle on the back of your head. The bare pads of her fingertips press light trails from the top of your scalp to the base of your nape, then restarts in a languid, if at all reassuring pace.

"This... shouldn't be your responsibility."

"What is?"

You burrow further into the curve of her shoulder, shut your eyes before you can feel the pinprick of tears at the ends of them. The numbness in your heart comes slithering back, and you feel for the barest of seconds the one thought that passes through your mind: 'What a disgrace you are, burdening her this way.'

"...being with me. Good old broken little me."

She releases a sound that registers like a huff of disapproval. You feel her shift against you, pushing you gently upwards, and you sit up from where you'd been lying in her lap, brows lowered in pain, not by her, but by yourself.

She leans close, then, presses her lips ever so lightly to your forehead, to your cheek. Her hands rise up to rest on your cheeks, thumbs caressing lines there.

Most of all...

She smiles.

"What makes you think I care about that?" You feel the burn at the ends of your eyes intensify. Your fingers dig into the fabric of the couch in an attempt to hold them back, because god forbid you let this woman see you cry when you only let yourself feel them for years. "I'm not glue, love, and I can't Elmer's my way to fix the shards that you've torn yourself into. But at the very least, I can hold you... I can keep you company where you've had none for so long."

You let out a sound. It's a strangled, muffled, confused little breath that's just too much sob and too much laugh that it's indecipherable to your hammering ears. She pulls you back, and you bury yourself into her form, allow yourself to melt into that much, even if the voices won't cease, won't shut up, because for once in your godforsaken life you finally don't have to cry alone.


	2. late.

"I'm sorry."

You don't know why she's apologizing. All you know to do then is to grip further at yourself, even as you feel her arms surround you, feel her warmth envelop your senses, feel her pull you into herself.

"...why? Why...?"

From the breath she exhales, you feel, faintly, that she's about to cry, too.

"I'm so sorry..." She whispers. "I'm sorry... for being too late to hold you. For being years too late to when you needed me most."


	3. tired.

There is an exhaustion rampant in every inch of your being. Far beyond the heart, it has sunk into the lonesome remains of your bones merely waiting for the day it withers into dust beneath the soil. Perhaps it would not even have the luxury of meeting soil, decomposing, simply, onto the poor misfortunate concrete upon which your body rests.

A coldness permeates the fabric of your shirt. The surface is hard, unrelenting, much like the person you simply cannot be so kind as to be to your own self.

You shut your eyes, exhale.

...you'll get up soon. After all, there's no other way to go but up. But for now, you'll feel this in its entirety, because it is you. And there is no one more attuned to your need for a lending ear than yourself.


	4. self-hatred.

"Who hurt you so much that you would loathe yourself so?"

There is only the lingering smile on your face, void of any semblance of joy or delight at the question. All that remains is a sadness, hollow and empty, that has long worn your ribcage into a numbness that you don't even know whether or not you deserve to feel.

"You underestimate the extent of harm that self-hatred can do."


End file.
